


Human State Of Mind

by capsiclesandcoolsauce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angsty Castiel, Castiel's POV, Feelings, Ficlet, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:23:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capsiclesandcoolsauce/pseuds/capsiclesandcoolsauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t know how to sum up all of the reactions his body was having, didn’t know what to call them, if there was even a name. There was a single mantra repeating in his head: angels should not feel. Angels should not feel. Angels should not feel.<br/>Castiel felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human State Of Mind

The first feeling Castiel ever experienced was not doubt. He hadn’t a name for it at the time; he knew only the responses his body gave. The sighs, an invisible fist in his throat squeezing each breath he inhaled and making it hard to swallow, his heart slowly pummeling his ribs as if they were the bars of a jail cell. There was a list of feelings in his mind: sadness, anger, fear, love, joy. He could assign each one to certain facial expressions humans used to display them - when they smiled, it meant they were happy, but if there were no crows’ feet around the eyes, it meant they were faking it. Fear widened their eyes, made their lips part, made the veins in their necks visibly rise. Anger furrowed their brows, pursed their lips, and reddened their skin. But Castiel was an angel, and therefore had no concept of the internal wars constantly raging inside all humans. He was stable, neutral, cold.  
The day Dean Winchester rose from his grave, confused but alive, and entered the roadside store, Castiel was certain his charge would be one of the rare few who could hear his true voice without going deaf. Especially now that Castiel’s handprint was burned into Dean’s arm, now that Dean had been raised from perdition, now that Dean was safe.  
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said.  
The electronic devices in the store began to whine. Dean looked up, and Castiel identified the expression as one of surprise. Static danced on the television screen, and Dean flicked the switch to turn it off. “Dean? Can you hear me?” Castiel asked. Dean had moved to the window and began lining the sill with salt, but the glass suddenly shattered and the ground shook. Dean cried out, dropped to the floor, and covered his ears.  
Something was wrong. Dean should not be reacting this way; he should be looking around and asking “Who’s there?” Instead, he was standing up, careening towards the door, trying desperately to reach it. Had Castiel really been wrong about Dean?  
All the signs shouted that he had been. Dean, it seemed, like most other humans, was not immune to the sound of his true voice. He therefore would never be able to lay eyes on Castiel’s true form, either, without being blinded. Dean would never be able to see exactly who it was that saved him, that brought him back to life. And Castiel didn’t know how, or why, that made him feel.  
He didn’t know how to sum up all of the reactions his body was having, didn’t know what to call them, if there was even a name. There was a single mantra repeating in his head: angels should not feel. Angels should not feel. Angels should not feel.  
Castiel felt.  
There were so few humans he could ever truly speak with. So, so few. The last time he found one had been hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. He had thought that as soon as he lay his hand on Dean, the human would be changed, his eyes and ears opened to heaven. He thought Dean would be different. Dean was SUPPOSED to be different. He owed Castiel that much. But no - Dean was as ordinary as he had always been.  
“Is something wrong, brother?” asked Uriel from somewhere behind Castiel.  
The other angel turned to face him. “No. I attempted to commune with Dean, but it seems he is unable to hear me.”  
“A pity. I assume you will enter your vessel soon, then?”  
“Yes. Today. I must speak with Dean in person.”  
Castiel did not lie. Had never lied. So why did he tell Uriel that nothing was wrong when it most definitely was?  
He surmised that it was because he didn’t wish to reveal the fact that his heart was weeping. He was used to being in a permanent state of neutrality, of his body functioning but never truly reacting to anything. It should NOT be reacting. Reacting was human.  
The angels were his brothers, but Dean was his charge, one he had been ordered to protect. Why couldn’t Dean hear him? And why was Castiel so affected by it?  
It wasn’t until much later that he realized how he felt.  
Disappointed.  
Disappointed that his voice could not fill Dean with awe and joy and respect. Disappointed that Dean would only ever see Castiel’s vessel’s body and voice. Disappointed that ever being himself would kill Dean.  
Disappointed.


End file.
